Won't Take Any Souvenirs
by ALC Punk
Summary: Resistance insert. Kara Thrace and Sam Anders have certain logistical problems.


Disclaimer: Not mine. Rating: 18+, porn, language.  
Set: during Resistance Pairing: Kara/Anders (the second hottest thing I've ever considered)  
Notes: For rhisilverflame, for prodding and encouragement. And for sharing the Anders love. ps. am too tired to figure out the pov shift. this took four months to write. handwave 

**Won't Take Any Souvenirs**  
by ALC Punk!

"Arrow's in the way." Kara says, but she doesn't really want Anders to stop what he's doing. She made the mistake of tying it onto a strap on her back--for safe-keeping.

"Huh?" He yanks her leg higher, and manages to shove her into the arrow a little.

"Ow. Damnit, Anders."

"Shut up, Kara."

"Shit--this is not going to--"

He smirks at the sound she makes and pushes with his hips again. "You were saying?"

"Shut up and move, Anders."

"I'm trying to move--"

"You should've stripped." She informs him, yanking him closer with his collar.

She didn't really give him time too, and so his ass is hanging out and his pants are tangled at his knees. Of course, hers are dangling from one foot and if he hadn't yanked her shirts up, he'd be without naked skin to notice. "You're the one who was so insistent that--OW."

"Sorry, arrow was really in the way." It makes a tinny clatter when she drops it.

"You don't sound sorry at all." He pulls the strap out of the way and strokes a hand over her breasts.

"Anders, you're still not moving."

"Oh. Right. This work?"

"That--yeah, that's a good moving. Uh-huh."

"Kara, you are such an ass."

"And you can't frak against a wall without practice." Which she's pretty certain he doesn't have. And, really, it's not like frakking against a wall is easy or something that can be prolonged. Her one foot still on the ground will start to spasm, his knees will give out--something will happen, and she bets they'll end up in a tangle on the floor.

"Are you mocking my technique, Thrace?"

"I'm mocking more than your technique, Samuel."

"Kara..." He tips his head and licks at her shoulder, hips twisting a little.

Her head goes back. "Gods--ok. Maybe I was--wrong."

"Ooooh, someone write it down in the history books, the great Kara Thrace just admitted she was wrong." Anders says, his tone the one now mocking.

"Might--be--wrong." Kara manages.

"Sorry. Might be wrong."

Maybe he is practiced at wall-frakking, she thinks as he shifts her slightly, and the better angle makes her breath freeze in her throat. "Stop talking, Anders."

"But it's so much fun."

"Bite me."

"Sure."

"Ow! I didn't mean--"

"Sure you didn't, Kara."

Her back arches, shoving her hips into his. "Bastard."

"We can trade insults later." He nips at her throat again, then begins moving, following the need pulsing through his own veins.

"Right." Her weight shifts, and she unbalances them.

For a moment, he teeters, then they fall, landing in a heap on the floor with lots of cursing. The cold of the floor makes him try to turn them so she's on the bottom, but she's quicker, pinning him deftly, and repositioning herself.

"Better."

He grabs her hips and pulls her down hard.

They both gasp.

"Brat."

"Shut up." There are still bruises on her from the encounter with the blonde cylon, but Kara isn't paying them any heed. Her knee twinges as she moves, grinding against Anders. Her shirts start slipping down and she yanks them up and tosses them against the wall, the movement impatient.

"Fine." His hand snakes up her side, fingers splayed to stroke her skin. He gets distracted by it, feeling her muscles ripple as she moves. His thumb brushes her nipple, and she growls. It's surreal: hot, almost incandescent woman driving him insane on top; cold, unforgiving concrete on his ass. He wonders if she'll apologize for slamming him into the floor later. Doubts it.

"Sam," she makes it a little gasp, and it's enough to make him want to take his pleasure first, to come right there with his name on her lips.

But he'd much rather make her come first. Being able to make Starbuck writhe in extacy is his new favorite game. He almost doesn't think about pyramid as he pushes up against her. His fingers stroke her side, blunt nails digging into the skin and leaving little half-moons.

Not that he is noticing that sort of thing.

A bomb could go off, a tank could come crashing through the wall, and the entire planet could blink out of existence--and he'd only notice when she disappears.

He's concentrating so hard, he almost misses the way her rhythm changes, becoming disconnected and ragged. But he catches the tightening of the muscles in her side and moves his hands back to her hips, pulling her hard against him. She gasps, head falling back as her body freezes for just a moment before she begins moving again, internal muscles pulsing around him as she cries out softly.

Before he can even think of being smug about it, she moves again with purpose, propping one hand on his chest and staring down at him. Kara's eyes are dark and fixed on his. It's as if she's challenging him.

Sam can't help tightening his grip on her, and guesses she'll be bruised later.

"C'mon, pyramid-boy," she says, her voice husky and tone mocking. "You can't last much longer."

She's right. She's so very right, but if training has taught him one thing, it's endurance. There was also this little bit about surprise tactics. His hand slides down between them, fingers touching the slickness and movement. When he brushes his finger against a certain spot, her rhythm stutters.

"What--"

He does it again, pressing and slipping, establishing a counter-rhythm.

"Frak."

Not that Samuel T. Anders thinks of himself as an artist, but he thinks he's definitely becoming a connoisseur of Kara Thrace's orgasms. The nuances, the way she arches up and then flops forward.

Yeah. If the world hadn't ended, he's pretty sure he would totally get used to it. It blows his mind that if it hadn't ended they probably wouldn't be doing this. Ever.

The thought of reality slips away as she mumbles something and twists her hips.

It's more than enough. This entire, surreal encounter has been more than enough.

He lets himself go.

"You bruised me." She's not really accusatory, just kind of lazy, draped on his chest.

Sam can feel her breath on his skin. He can't quite feel her heartbeat, but his own is still pounding dimly. He stops minding the floor and tightens his grip on her. "You knocked us to the floor."

"Unavoidable."

"Right."

Kara snorts. "You should be glad."

"What?"

"The arrow could've been sticking you in the ass."

He raises his head to look for it, and finally finds it to the side, gleaming dully. "We should put that in a case."

"Yeah, well, I didn't have time to grab the padded one from the museum, y'know?"

"I think I've got the perfect thing: messenger tube from the school office." He smacks her ass. "If you get off me, we can go get it and then you won't have to jab me with it anymore."

"I think I like jabbing you. Ass." But she doesn't move.

"Cold ass." He corrects.

"What, I'm not hot enough for you?"

"You're plenty hot, Kara. But this floor is ice-cold."

"Fine." she jabs him in the stomach with a finger as she sits up. "Next time, you get to sleep alone."

"The beds aren't big enough for two, anyway."

He admires her economy of movement as she grabs a rag and cleans herself, then rearranges her clothing. A moment later, he remembers he should get up, too.

"Can I borrow that rag?"

"Here." She tosses the rag at him.

Grateful, he cleans himself quickly, then follows her example and stands. And winces. Yep. Definitely more bruises.

-f-


End file.
